The Church, Parachurch, and Shared Responsibility

Over the first three modules, we began changing the way we see poverty. We examined our own perspective and considered our responsibility to help. We confronted the stereotypes and assumptions we carry about people experiencing poverty. And we learned that poverty involves far more than money. Financial resources matter, but they are only one part of what individuals and families need in order to move toward stability. That new perspective prepared us to look beyond individuals and examine the environments around them.

In Module 4, we examined the system. Government support is necessary, but it cannot replace strong local relationships and community support. In Module 5, we turned to the conversation and saw how good intentions can be lost when communication breaks down, which it does more often than we think. Then, in Module 6, we confronted the affordable housing crisis and the reality that families cannot build lasting stability when safe housing remains out of reach.

Taken together, these lessons lead us to one conclusion: no single program, institution, or sector can reduce poverty alone. But when we communicate, coordinate, and act together, we can make meaningful progress against the conditions that keep people in poverty. That is where Module 7 begins.

But first, let’s define what we mean by parachurch. A parachurch organization is a Christian organization that works alongside local churches to address a focused need, such as homelessness, hunger, recovery, missions, or education. The word para means “beside” or “alongside,” reflecting this supporting role.

We see a biblical pattern in Acts 6:1–6, when Stephen and six others were appointed to oversee assistance to neglected widows, allowing the apostles to remain focused on prayer and teaching. Together with the call to care for widows and orphans in James 1:27, this demonstrates the value of entrusting qualified people with specialized ministry.

It is also worth noting, that in the early church, believers worked together, sharing resources and responsibilities to meet the needs of others. Over time, as the church grew and needs became more complex, independent Christian ministries emerged to address specific challenges with more focus and commitment. What began as a shared mission gradually evolved into separate organizations with their own leadership, budgets, staff, and priorities. As both churches and parachurch ministries expanded, the demands of sustaining their own operations sometimes overshadowed their commitment to working together. The result was often two groups pursuing the same Christian mission, but operating independently, competing for resources, and communicating less effectively. The mission hadn’t necessarily changed, but the way they carried it out had.

A parachurch organization therefore complements the broader work of the local church; it does not replace it. By its very meaning and purpose, it should not operate in isolation from the church, but in relationship with it. Unfortunately, that is not always what happens.

Churches, parachurch organizations, nonprofit agencies, and government programs often serve the same people in the same neighborhoods. But proximity and shared concerns are not the same as partnership.

As the founder of an organization that served people experiencing homelessness in Charlotte, North Carolina—and as someone who also served in the local church for many years—I witnessed this firsthand.

When I first felt called to move into an impoverished neighborhood and serve people experiencing homelessness, I had no understanding of what I would later recognize as the parachurch industry. At the time, I was serving as both an elder and a staff member at my church. Before taking that step, I shared what I believed God was calling me to do with my senior pastor and the board of elders, seeking their counsel, affirmation, and approval.

To me, this was how the body of Christ was intended to function. My model was the early church, where believers shared resources, supported one another, and worked together to meet the needs of their communities. The Apostle Paul described the church as one body with many parts—hands, feet, eyes, ears, mouth, etc.—each with a different function, yet all belonging to the same body and serving the same Lord.

That was how I understood the pursuit of a personal calling. I was not meant to assume I knew best and simply “just do it” without seeking affirmation. I had freely chosen to place myself under the spiritual leadership and authority of my church. I had also studied the life of Mother Teresa, whose example inspired me because I saw in her work such a powerful reflection of Jesus. Before beginning her ministry among the poorest of the poor in Calcutta, she, too, sought spiritual counsel and the Church’s permission, despite having experienced what she believed was the unmistakable voice of Jesus calling her to that work.

With the blessing of my pastor and the board of elders, I believed I was being sent as an extension of the church’s ministry, under its spiritual leadership and accountable to its elders. Like Stephen, who was chosen in the early church to help meet the community’s practical needs, I understood my calling as one part of a much larger body.

Everything seemed to be working as it should.

But something happened that I had not anticipated.

As our ministry grew, I kept my church informed through quarterly and annual reports. I shared the work we were doing, the people we were serving, and the impact we were making. Yet despite that communication, our ministry was increasingly treated as an independent organization rather than an extension of the church’s mission.

The underlying difference was one of priorities. Our ministry focused on serving people experiencing homelessness, while my church placed greater emphasis on evangelizing those who had not yet come to faith. The church continued to affirm our work and provided some financial support, but it could not support the ministry at the level we needed. Its resources were already committed to numerous other organizations and outreach efforts, including overseas missions.

That was when my role began to shift. Instead of serving as an Executive Director, spending most of my time leading a staff that cared for more than 60 formerly homeless men we had housed, I found myself becoming a fundraiser—competing for the very dollars that might otherwise have gone to the local church. I was caught in a troubling divide: churches receiving tithes to carry out the work of Christ, while ministries actually doing much of that work operated independently, forced to compete for the financial support needed to fulfill what should have been a shared mission.

What I had not understood when I began was that I had stepped into a different system—what I now describe as the invisible “parachurch industry,” with its own structures, expectations, and unwritten rules.

This is when the parachurch system I had described became personal to my own experience. It also made me wonder when we moved from the early church model to the one we have today.

Over the centuries, particularly during the twentieth century, Christian ministries increasingly developed into independent organizations with their own boards, staff, budgets, fundraising operations, and institutional priorities. Many began with a genuine desire to address needs that local churches were not equipped or prepared to meet. But as these ministries grew, efforts to work alongside the church often evolved into a separate system operating parallel to it—and sometimes competing with it.

The modern parachurch model did not develop for any single reason. Some ministries emerged when believers recognized needs their local churches were not addressing. Others were established so Christians from different congregations could pool their resources and work together to carry out specialized ministries. As these efforts grew, many developed their own boards, staff, budgets, and fundraising systems. Yet establishing a separate organization did not necessarily mean becoming disconnected from the church.

My experience, however, raises some important questions. What happens when a church affirms and sends one of its members into ministry but fails to provide ongoing support and share responsibility for that calling? Could the church’s understanding of its mission be expanded to embrace the work of those it has affirmed and sent, particularly when that work directly serves the surrounding community? And perhaps most importantly, is the church’s discipleship process deep enough to recognize the unique callings God has placed on the lives of those within its own body?

These questions go beyond the relationship between churches and parachurch organizations. They speak to how we understand the church itself, its responsibility to its members, and its calling to serve the world around it.

Without intending to, I found myself in that very situation: competing with churches, including my own, for the financial resources needed to serve people I believed we were all called to help.

My church had not rejected me or the ministry. Its leaders continued to believe in the work. But somewhere between their spiritual affirmation and their institutional priorities, the partnership I had envisioned never fully materialized.

What troubled me most was that discipleship seemed to have been lost in the process. The emphasis was often on how many people were reached or helped, rather than the depth of the relationships and the ongoing investment needed to help people grow toward their fullest potential as followers of Jesus. That included the people we served, the volunteers who served alongside us, and even me.

I had been affirmed, commissioned, and sent. But somewhere along the way, I had become orphaned.

I do not believe anyone intended that outcome. I believe it reflected a larger problem. As churches and parachurch ministries grew, they developed separate leadership structures, budgets, and priorities without always sustaining the relationships, communication, and shared responsibilities needed to function as one body.

In our ministry, discipleship was central to what we hoped to accomplish. In my church, evangelism had become the greater institutional priority. Both mattered. Yet somewhere along the way, they seemed to have become competing objectives rather than complementary parts of the same mission.

I do not believe churches are bad or parachurch ministries are wrong. Both do extraordinary things. But I do believe the sheer size of some churches can deepen this disconnect. When thousands attend, how do we sustain meaningful spiritual relationships, personal accountability, and genuine discipleship?

Small groups are often offered as the answer. But gathering people in a smaller setting does not, by itself, mean discipleship is taking place. Fellowship and Bible study matter. Discipleship, however, requires something deeper: intentional relationships, accountability, spiritual maturity, and learning to follow Jesus in the way we actually live.

Too often, we confuse participation in church activities with genuine discipleship. Perhaps that is part of the larger problem. We can become so focused on growing, managing, and sustaining our individual churches and ministries that we lose sight of how they were meant to function together.

The Apostle Paul’s description of the body of Christ was not about building competing organizations. It was about different people, with different gifts and responsibilities, working together toward a common purpose.

The hand was never intended to compete with the foot. The eye was never intended to function independently of the ear.

Yet working side by side does not necessarily mean we are working together.

Churches and parachurch ministries often care about the same problems while operating through separate systems. They may draw on different funding sources, speak different organizational languages, and measure success in different ways. Nowhere was that disconnect more apparent to me than in the way we approached people experiencing homelessness.

When I helped establish our parachurch ministry, the people who knew me best were my church family. They were committed Christians who faithfully tithed to the local church because they had been taught that this was where their biblical tithe belonged.

Because the church had affirmed our ministry, many assumed it was also providing substantial financial support—not paying for everything, but helping ensure we had what we needed to fulfill our mission. I understood our calling in light of Stephen and the others being set apart to serve: we were carrying out the work of the church, not creating a competing mission.

When people discovered how little financial support the church was actually providing, some were caught off guard. Some redirected their giving to the ministry, which led to disagreements with church leadership about where their tithe should go.

People were placed in the position of choosing between supporting their church and supporting work they understood to be the church’s mission.

That was the conflict I encountered. What I believed should have been shared responsibility became competition for the same people’s giving. I did not believe that reflected the biblical pattern of the body working together to meet needs.

I did not believe the work of the church should have to compete with the church itself for support. I still don’t. That is a business model, not a biblical one.

But the division went beyond finances. I began to see another troubling disconnect—not simply in how the work was funded, but in how the people we were called to serve were approached. The very people whose needs demanded the greatest compassion and commitment were often the most difficult to fit into the church’s established ways of helping.

In the homeless ministries I observed, some churches preferred a clear, orderly process and were more comfortable helping people whose needs seemed less complicated. Frontline ministries, however, do not always have the luxury of choosing whom they serve. They respond to people who arrive at their doors or are brought to them, often at their most vulnerable. Lives shaped by poverty, trauma, homelessness, and addiction rarely follow a straight path.

Those working daily with people experiencing homelessness learn that progress takes time, setbacks are common, and meaningful change cannot always be measured by immediate results. Many of the parachurch leaders in those ministries had experienced homelessness themselves. Their approach was often shaped by that experience, emphasizing relationships, patience, mercy, grace, and second chances.

The differences were not necessarily about who cared more. They were about expectations, experience, and understanding. A church might expect measurable progress within a certain period, while a frontline ministry recognizes that helping someone rebuild a life can take years. One may emphasize immediate outcomes; the other may place greater value on the relationship that makes lasting change possible.

Neither perspective necessarily comes from bad intentions. But when those expectations are not understood or discussed, they can create frustration, misunderstanding, and division between organizations pursuing the same goal.

If we truly want to make a difference in the lives of people experiencing poverty, perhaps we need to recover something the early church understood: we do not all have to do the same thing, but we do need to recognize that we belong to the same body—and that the mission is bigger than any one church or ministry.

We are one body. And perhaps it’s time we started acting like it.

Which brings us back to something we discussed earlier in this training: communication.

Even when we share the same faith, compassion, and desire to help, we can still fail to understand one another. Sometimes, the greatest obstacle to working together is not a lack of resources or even a difference in priorities.

It’s the noise that prevents us from truly hearing one another.

In Module 5, we reviewed the Shannon–Weaver model of communication: a source encodes a message, sends it through a channel, and a receiver decodes it. Along the way, noise—including differences in culture, education, experience, and language—can alter what the receiver hears and understands. Misunderstandings occur. And when they go unrecognized or unresolved, they can create frustration, reinforce assumptions, and erode trust—preventing the cooperation and synergy needed to work effectively together.

Now let’s apply that model across organizations.

The church may interpret patience as ineffectiveness. The parachurch ministry may interpret accountability as impatience. Government agencies may focus on documented assistance and compliance without fully considering whether that assistance produces lasting results. These differences can lead to frustration, distrust, and lost synergy.

Government agencies, nonprofits, and churches may all use the word help, but they may mean very different things. All three speak about families, service, success, and responsibility, yet they encode those words through different organizational cultures.

The noise between them may include rigid, black-and-white definitions of success; differences in administrative capacity, education, and experience; difficulty explaining needs and outcomes in language the others can understand and respect; and varying levels of commitment to long-term involvement. Without a feedback loop—and the willingness, humility, and patience to listen and learn—each organization may be doing the best it can, yet its message is filtered through the others’ knowledge, assumptions, and experiences. Business leaders, government professionals, and parachurch leaders often operate with different vocabularies, expectations, and measures of success. Without intentional translation, even shared goals can sound like competing priorities.

Let’s consider a scenario that happens all too often.

A man experiencing homelessness approaches a church for help. The church pays for several nights in a hotel and tells him, “There are other organizations in the community that may be able to help further.” But it provides no specific referral, makes no introduction, and does not confirm that another organization can accept him. His lack of a stable address, identification, and other documentation also creates barriers as he tries to apply for government assistance.

Over the following months, the man visits several churches and agencies, repeating the same request. One provides additional hotel nights; another offers financial assistance. Each act of generosity helps him survive, but none creates a pathway from crisis to stability because the organizations are not communicating or coordinating. Eventually, word spreads through the informal grape-vine that he has received help from multiple places.

To continue serving people with complex needs, the parachurch ministry seeks financial support from a local church. The church admires the ministry’s work, but it carries a broader mission: proclaiming the gospel, caring for its congregation, supporting local outreach, and participating in missions around the world. Because its giving is distributed among many worthy commitments, a specialized local ministry may not receive the consistent support it needs—especially when the church is uncertain about how the ministry uses or accounts for its funds because it does not disclose all the details of its work.

That is why in the case of the ministry I co-founded, and as mentioned earlier, I gave quarterly updates to any church interested in supporting our work.

This is also what causes competition between organizations that should be partners. And it is why the parachurches executive director is forced to spend a substantial portion of his or her time raising funds rather than leading staff, strengthening programs, building partnerships, and remaining connected to the people being served. Fundraising is essential, but when it consumes the director’s time, it can threaten the very mission it is intended to sustain.

Unlike a local church, a parachurch ministry does not have a congregation providing regular weekly support through offerings or tithes. It must continually seek donations from individuals, many of whom attend local churches, which brings us back to the aforementioned example I experienced, it gives the appearance that the parachurch ministry is competing with the church for the same resources, causing the tension with church members who assume support is sufficient to ensure the parachurch ministry is sufficiently funded.

This tension makes Acts 4:34–35 especially significant. Scripture says there were no needy persons among the early believers because members made their resources available and those resources were distributed according to need. The burden was not left to one leader or one ministry; the local community recognized its shared responsibility and responded together. That same principle challenges us today: rather than competing for resources or assuming someone else is meeting the need, churches, parachurch ministries, and community partners must communicate clearly and coordinate their giving. When they do, fewer people are overlooked, resources are used more effectively, and more individuals can move from crisis toward stability.

The problem is not simply that these organizations communicate differently. It is that they operate separately, measure success differently, and leave people experiencing poverty to navigate the gaps.

This scenario primarily illustrates fragmentation among churches, parachurch ministries, and community-service organizations. It does not yet address the legal, administrative, and religious tensions that can complicate church–government relationships, adding another layer of division.

Still, this is what working side by side—but not together—looks like. Everyone provides some form of help, but no one owns the pathway from crisis to stability. Without a specific referral, a feedback loop, and a shared definition of success, assistance is duplicated for some, unavailable to others, and judged by activity rather than lasting change.

So, perhaps you are now asking, what does a city do next if we resemble the disjointed system?

We build a shared operating system around the organizations involved in poverty: one community aim, an accountable coordinating team, agreed roles, a coordinated access and housing placement, person-specific data, and shared accountability can reduce homelessness to measurably low levels for defined populations. A coordinated community response also requires a shared computer system. Without one, each organization maintains separate records, repeats the same intake questions, and may never know what assistance another provider has already offered. A secure system can create one permission-based client record, show available services, track assistance, and send a specific referral to a provider that can accept it. Most importantly, it can close the loop by confirming whether the person received help or still needs another response. This reduces duplication, identifies service gaps, saves staff time, and allows organizations to measure outcomes rather than simply count activities. The system should not allow everyone to see everything; access must be limited by consent, role, and need. Technology cannot create cooperation by itself, but it provides the shared information and feedback that make cooperation possible.

One model worth examining comes from Community Solutions, a national nonprofit that helps communities measurably reduce homelessness. Its Built for Zero initiative works with more than 100 communities to replace disconnected efforts with coordinated, data-driven systems. Several participating communities have historically reduced veteran or chronic homelessness to very low and sustainable levels, making Built for Zero a useful example of what organized cooperation can accomplish.

The Built for Zero model brings local providers together as one accountable team, aligned around a shared aim and supported by real-time, person-specific—or “by-name”—data. The approach uses coordinated outreach, time-bound housing placements, targeted investments, shared accountability, and continuous improvement. Success is measured not simply by services delivered, shelter beds filled, or money spent, but by verified reductions and whether homelessness is becoming rare, brief, nonrecurring, safe, and credibly measured. Built for Zero demonstrates that when a community organizes around shared outcomes rather than isolated programs, measurable and sustainable reductions in homelessness are possible

First, partners need one shared outcome. “Work together on poverty” is too vague. “Reduce family housing instability in this neighborhood” is concrete enough to organize around.

Second, they need clear roles. Who identifies the need? Who verifies eligibility? Who provides emergency assistance? Who handles long-term case management? Who follows up? Who tells the original referrer what happened?

Third, they need defined boundaries. Each organization should state its legal duties, religious commitments, service limits, and nonnegotiable concerns. Naming differences early is healthier than discovering them during a crisis.

Fourth, they need a feedback loop. Partners should confirm what they heard, what they agreed to do, what actually happened, and what needs to be corrected. This is where the Shannon–Weaver model becomes a practical partnership tool.

Fifth, power must be transparent. Who controls the money? Who sets the rules? Who owns the data? Who receives public credit? How are disputes resolved? Hidden power produces visible distrust.

Finally, coordination must be funded. Meetings, training, referral tracking, data agreements, evaluation, and follow-through require staff time. If coordination is treated as free labor, the partnership will depend on exhausted people and eventually disappear.

The church cannot replace government. Government cannot replace the church. Parachurch organizations cannot replace either one.

The church brings relationships, trust, presence, and moral commitment. Parachurch organizations bring focus, expertise, and continuity. Government brings scale, authority, formal benefits, and public resources. Each is incomplete without the others when the problem is as complex as poverty.

But being in the same city is not cooperation. Serving the same families is not coordination. Attending the same meeting is not shared responsibility.

Shared responsibility begins when we create one outcome, clarify our roles, respect our differences, establish feedback, and build a structure that survives beyond individual leaders.

The research does not tell us that cooperation is easy. It tells us why cooperation fails—and what conditions make it more likely to succeed.

The question for us is no longer simply, “Who is responsible for poverty?”

The better question is, “What responsibility belongs to us—and what must we build with others that none of us can build alone?”

Perhaps you are wondering, has anyone actually implemented such a system.

Built for Zero is a national initiative of the nonprofit Community Solutions that helps communities build coordinated systems for reducing homelessness. Rather than treating homelessness as a collection of unrelated cases managed by separate organizations, Built for Zero brings local agencies, service providers, healthcare systems, housing partners, and community leaders together as one accountable team. Participating communities commit to a shared goal and use timely, person-specific information to understand who is experiencing homelessness and what each person needs.

In Module 7, we have seen that churches, parachurch ministries, and government agencies cannot substantially reduce poverty by working independently.

Community Solutions and Built for Zero showed us one important example of what can happen when a community replaces isolated programs with shared goals, reliable data, coordinated action, and accountability. But Built for Zero is not the only model from which we can learn. In Module 8, we will examine communities and organizations achieving measurable progress and identify what their success has in common. Then, in Module 9, we will bring those lessons home to Volusia and Flagler Counties. I hope you will join us.